


These Vows We Make

by AmunetMana



Series: A Different Path [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky whump, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Love Confessions, M/M, PWP, Tumblr Prompt, but again it's really mostly feelings, spoilers for Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-14 21:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmunetMana/pseuds/AmunetMana
Summary: Returning to Wakanda was only the beginning for the King and his Winter Soldier. But amidst the struggles and the clamour of the world trying to force its way in, there are these moments too. These quiet moments, where the outside word stays out, and everything is at peace.Tumblr prompt: I love you … In awe, the first time you realised it





	These Vows We Make

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGoldenAppleofAsgard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGoldenAppleofAsgard/gifts).



> A sequel to Only You, but not 100% necessary to read that one first if you don't fancy it. Let me know what you think!

T’Challa/Bucky : I love you 31 … In awe, the first time you realised it

 

~

 

Bucky looked small, curled up against T’Challa’s side in the massive bed they shared in the palace. Strange and pale against the vibrant colours and warmth of Wakanda; against the palace and its interior. A true _Winter Soldier_ , struggling to find his place in a thawed-out world. It stalked him everywhere he went, a stain on his body and in his mind that haunted every action he took, every moment he had.

 

He always looked so tired, these days. Coming to Wakanda should have been a fresh start, and perhaps in time it still would be. T’Challa had a team of scientists appointed to work around the clock on finding a way to free Bucky from the horrors left inside his mind. The arm had been easy. It was gone now, and a replacement made – but Bucky had balked away from it.

 

 _“I’m dangerous enough without it,”_ Bucky had whispered. _“Not yet. Not until…not until it’s all gone.”_

 

So the arm waited, maintained and well-kept, and the scientists moved on to solving the problem left inside Bucky’s mind. T’Challa would not allow any part of Hydra, or the Red Room, or anything else so filthy to remain in Bucky’s body. Not the arm, and not anything in the deep, dark corners of his mind. But it was taking so long, and Bucky looked so tired. There were deep, dark smudges under his eyes, and stubble on his cheeks. He was far too pale, listless and quiet as they failed again and again to free him. The extent of the invasion into his mind; the kill code in his head – the programmed behaviours ran so deep, Bucky was left doubting his every action.

 

But every time he doubted, T’Challa was there to sweep his hand up, kissing the knuckles gently. Every time T’Challa saw him falter, he would be there to reassure him, to cup his cheeks gently and whisper to him;

 

_“I will protect you. I will always, always keep you safe.”_

 

Kisses, gentle, against Bucky’s eyelids as they fluttered closed, gentle with the knowledge that T’Challa would – and _could_ – protect him. Could protect others _from_ him, if that was what it took. But T’Challa wouldn’t let it come to that. He would help Bucky find his peace, if it was the last thing he did. Bucky had given him a precious gift. T’Challa had told him, “ _think only of me_ ”. And Bucky had looked at him, so solemn and absolute, even as he wrapped his legs around T’Challa’s waist – “ _only you_.” It was a vow. A promise. T’Challa intended to be worthy of those words.

 

Bucky was falling asleep beside him, so small and so weakened from all the tests, all the probes into his mind that T’Challa wished he could spare him. So worn, so drained. He was so precious, T'Challa could hardly stand it.

 

“I love you.”

 

Stillness surrounded the words, and for a moment, T’Challa doubted that he had even spoken them out loud. But then, Bucky stirred against him, eyelids blinking slowly. A crinkle appeared between his eyebrows, and his lips parted, only for no sound to escape them.

 

T’Challa looked down at him, and found that the disbelief that had coloured his words had not changed, and so he said then again. Touched a finger to Bucky’s chin, and tilted it up gently.

 

“I love you.”

 

They seemed small. Three impossibly small words, incapable of encapsulating the meaning that they held. T'Challa curled his arm more tightly around Bucky's shoulders, and drank in the tired, confused eyes that still blinked up at him in confusion. He was so brave. So strong. So doubtful, despite everything. Bucky had made his vows – it was time for T’Challa to make his.

 

"Do you need me to say it again?" T'Challa murmured, thumb moving back and forth against Bucky's skin. "I'll say it as many times as you want. As many times as you need to hear it, and twice as many times as you doubt it.” He bent, pressing a long, lingering kiss at the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

 

“I love you.”

 

A kiss to his cheek.

 

“I love you.”

 

Fingers wound in his hair, still long, still beautiful.

 

“I love you.”

 

A kiss to his lips, and T’Challa thrilled at the way Bucky, weak as he was, arched up as much as he was able, kissing back with an eagerness that was almost desperation. When they parted, T’Challa’s lips quirked into a smile, and laughter escaped him, as he pressed their foreheads together. Bucky’s hand came up, curled around the back of T’Challa’s neck. His grip was soft, but there was something insistent about it. Something T’Challa was more than happy to give himself over to.

 

They had never quite reached frantic when they made love, but there had certainly been times when there was an element of hurry to it. The first time they met, for example, in that hotel room where Bucky had attempted to copulate without ever leaving the stiff-backed chair T'Challa had been settled in. Before meetings, _between_ meetings; when Bucky had caught the sleeve of T'Challa's robes, looking so frantic and wild after invasive tests that gave back nothing, that T'Challa had dragged him away and pressed him with kisses and unspoken love until Bucky could relax enough to find sleep. Or, on one memorable occasion, where Bucky had remained so embarrassedly attached to T'Challa that he had joined the meeting, pressed red-faced into T'Challa's side. He'd sat on the floor without prompting, face tucked in towards T’Challa’s thigh. T'Challa didn't understand, but he'd certainly enjoyed. It'd given him the opportunity to keep his fingers stroking back and forth through Bucky's hair for an hour, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

 

Nowadays, since Bucky had requested the tests come thicker and faster than ever, their time together had conversely stretched out further and further, into something slow and careful. They luxuriated in it – or at least T'Challa did. He relished taking the time to pour over every inch of Bucky's exposed body, lying lithe and exposed beneath bright cloth and atop soft sheets. T'Challa loved seeing him in Wakandan dress – but he also loved to see him in nothing at all. T'Challa rolled atop Bucky, and pressed down with his not-inconsiderable bodyweight. He'd been hesitant to do so at first, in the earlier days, but Bucky had confessed, in the quiet and dark as they curled towards each other before sleep, that it grounded him. Made him feel secure.

 

T'Challa was especially grateful for such mutually beneficial circumstances, whenever they chose to appear. For the absolution Bucky found in belonging to his King. For Bucky coming to Wakanda, not simply to run from his foes, but because of a genuine desire to remain by T'Challa's side.

 

Bucky tired after only kissing that night, but T'Challa didn't mind. He laced their fingers together, curling Bucky's hand towards him so he could press kisses to the back, and continued his mantra.

 

"I love you."

 

A kiss against Bucky's knuckles.

 

"I love you."

 

The sweep of dark fingers against Bucky's hip.

 

"I love you."

 

Did people ever get tired of saying it?

 

"I love you."

 

T'Challa couldn't imagine he ever would.

 

And later into the night, curled into each other as they so often were, T'Challa felt Bucky shift, almost imperceptibly. Then, a whisper, as shy and solemn as a secret confession –

 

"I love you too."

 

T'Challa smiled, and squeezed Bucky's hand tightly. Their future was to be a bright one.  Demons and winter and demons be damned, Bucky was protected, and he was loved. They may still try to come for him – they may still clamour and cry at the gates, throw themselves at the gates and crane for a glimpse of their lost weapon. They may still come.

 

T’Challa’s lip curled.

 

_Let them try._

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this, please consider buying me a ko-fi!
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/amunetmana
> 
> Come prompt me on tumblr:
> 
> http://thevoidbetweenmyears.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-meme


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